


chase the shadows away

by wrishwrosh



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, Ouija Boards
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-08
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2019-04-20 07:15:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14255748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wrishwrosh/pseuds/wrishwrosh
Summary: Tyson's new house might be haunted, and he's the only one who seems to care.





	chase the shadows away

**Author's Note:**

> happy playoffs! i do not know anything about ghosts!
> 
> title from gimme gimme gimme by abba

Tyson is 26 years old. He’s a grown adult, and he’s been living more or less on his own for half a decade. At this point, he can mostly take care of his own shit. But in the two weeks since he moved into his new place, he’s been losing the thread a little bit.

When he went to see it before the season started, the realtor distracted him with HGTV shit like granite countertops and closet space, so he forgot to do all the little responsible stuff like figuring out where outlets are or checking whether the bathroom fan works. He knows just enough about electricity to go buy an extension cord to fix the outlet issue, and not nearly enough about electricity to fuck with the wiring on his fan. He’s pretty sure there’s a clause in his contract specifically forbidding him from doing his own electrical work.

He makes a note to call a guy about the fan. But then he gets distracted and the old Chipotle receipt that he wrote call fan guy??? on falls in the sink and the drain gets weirdly clogged and he has to stick his hand in the garbage disposal a little bit to clear out the shreds of wet paper, which is also probably something his contract does not allow. So the fan does not get fixed.

According to his mom, this is just the kind of thing that happens when you buy an old house. The wiring is weird and old, so the bathroom fan doesn’t work and sometimes the lights turn on and off by themselves. The windows are original, so some of them stick shut while others slide open on their own when he’s out of the room. Also, Tyson can literally never remember where he put his house key, but he can’t blame that on anybody but himself.

He’s telling himself that it’s just an adjustment period, but it makes for a rough start to the season when he’s almost late for the first day of camp because he has to lie on the floor and pull his keys out of the heating vent where they somehow got jammed.

The mystery of the missing keys continues all the way through preseason. Every single time he tries to leave his house, his keys are not where he thought he left them. He finds them in his bed, in the fridge behind the eggs, one time, somehow, locked in the trunk of his car. That time, he has to call Gabe and hope that it’s still early enough in the season that he wants to be a good captain and give Tyson a ride.

The moral of the story is Tyson has always been kind of a mess, and lately he’s been even messier than usual. The other moral is that he might also be an idiot, because it takes him weeks to figure out something else might be going on with his house.

He’s kicking around his house one afternoon, scrolling through Instagram and half-watching a rerun of some shitty ghost hunting show. It’s a warm fall day, so he opened the living room window to get a breeze on the couch. He’s staring at a picture of Gabe and Zoe, on the verge of dozing off, when out of the corner of his eye he sees the window slowly sliding shut again. Grumbling, he rolls off the couch to prop it open again. As he’s scuffling around looking for something that won’t just topple right off the windowsill, he hears one of the TV ghost dudes whisper, “Yeah, unexplained movement around doors and windows is one of the big indicators of demonic activity.”

He freezes, staring at the window. As he watches, it pops back open.

“Huh,” he says.

He tries googling ‘exorcisms in denver area’ but it takes him three tries to spell exorcism, which is sort of demoralizing, and then none of the sites that come up really look like they can solve his particular problem. Tyson hasn’t noticed any unexplained animal noises or clouds of mysterious black smoke floating in his hallway. He definitely hasn’t been contacted by the devil. There are no helpful links for ‘demon broke your bathroom fan’ or ‘demon won’t stop hiding your car keys’.

From process of elimination, that means Tyson is probably dealing with just a plain, regular ghost. It’s admittedly a little more boring than a demon, but also probably less dangerous. The exorcism website suggests figuring out what’s trapping the ghost on the mortal plane, which Tyson is definitely not qualified to do. Perfect.

+

 _so if a person hypothetically wanted to find out if anyone ever died in their house where do you think they would do that_ , Tyson texts Nate at 12:30 AM after getting really deep into google.

 _why do you ask me these questions_ , Nate responds.

_bc i want ANSWERS why do u think!!_

Nate sends back, _i’m blocking your number_ , and doesn’t respond to any of Tyson’s increasingly desperate emojis. He stops after a couple of minutes, because a couple of minutes is like, hundreds of emojis and even Tyson knows the line has to be drawn somewhere. Nate is apparently determined to be useless, so Tyson moves on to Gabe.

 _did you kill someone???_ Gabe asks.

 _if i killed someone i wouldnt need to check if anybody died in my house_ , says Tyson. _i think i would know already_

 _fair_ , says Gabe.

_ANYWAY i just want to know if theres spirits in my house i feel like my realtor should have told me if there were_

_oh yeah this is all the realtor’s fault_ , Gabe says.

 _im blocking ur number_ , says Tyson. He doesn’t block the number.

+

Tyson has his beauty routine, such as it is, down to a science. Step one: shower. Step two: put enough gel in his hair that he can forget it exists. Step three: that’s it. He’s even been using the same brand of gel since he was nineteen years old.

He went ahead and completed step one of the process, but when he gets out of the shower, his gel is not where he left it. In its place is a little tub of fancy pomade he bought in a fit of style inspiration three years ago and never once used. He has absolutely no idea how to use it and no idea why he still has it, much less why it’s now sitting there next to his sink. He wraps his towel around his waist and opens the cabinet, trying to remember if he put his gel somewhere else.

He still hasn’t fixed the fan, so the mirror is completely fogged up except for one little strip cleared by a drop of condensation. The drop rolls all the way down the mirror and falls directly on the pomade.

Tyson shuts the cabinet, which contains no gel, and looks on as three more drops land square on the lid.

He uses the pomade.

+

As practice is winding down the next day, Tyson sidles up to Nate where he’s leaning against the boards and says, “Hey, what would you say if I told you that my new house is haunted by a ghost who’s talking shit about my hair?”

Nate just looks at him sort of sadly. Tyson is used to that look, and he’s never once let it stop him before. “Let’s say I’m being completely serious about this. What would you say about that, in this hypothetical?”

“I would say that you need to stop watching Paranormal Activity alone, and also whatever cake or cheese or stupid shit you’re eating before bed, stop eating it.”

“I don’t eat stupid shit before bed,” Tyson lies. “I’m a professional athlete.” Tyson might keep a roll of cookie dough in his freezer at all times, and he might sometimes eat a little bit of it before he goes to sleep. It’s a guilty pleasure, and not Nate’s problem. It’s also probably not why he has a poltergeist in his house, either.

From across the ice, Gabe wings a puck at the glass right next to Tyson’s head. Tyson yelps. Nate bursts out laughing.

“What are you guys talking about?” yells Gabe, because he hates being left out.

“Nothing,” says Tyson.

“God, I wish it were nothing,” says Nate.

Tyson elbows him, and he says, “You know what, I’m curious. In what way, exactly, is a ghost talking shit about your hair?

“The ghost hid my hair gel,” says Tyson.

Nate gives him the look again.

“Shut up,” Tyson says. “I know how stupid that sounds. I’m a rational adult. But I also know that my hair gel was in a different place when I got in the shower from when I got out, and it was weird.”

“Mm, hate it when that happens,” says Nate, staring into the rafters.

“Quit rolling your eyes at me. Something kinda freaky is happening in my house, Nate.”

Nate smirks. “I think it sounds like the ghost is trying to do you a favor. It’s not like your hair can get much worse at this point.”

“Tyson’s hair is okay,” says Gabe, looping past them on his way off the ice.

“Thanks, Landy!” Tyson yells after him, waving. “Your praise means everything to me, bud!”

Gabe bends at the waist, doing some kind of smarmy kingly bow before heading away in the direction of the locker room.

“Well, if Landy says your hair is okay,” says Nate. Tyson spears him in the side and follows Gabe off.

+

They have their first long haul road trip in early October, and Tyson is tired as fuck and very ready to be alone when he gets home.

When Tyson opens his front door, though, the whole house smells overwhelmingly like chocolate chip cookies. He’s never actually once in his life baked any of his cookie dough, so he’s a little thrown. He drops his bag right inside the door and creeps towards the kitchen. He’s not sure how exactly this could be a prank, but he definitely doesn’t know anyone nice enough to just make him cookies, and he’s not about to get caught off-guard this early in the season.

It has to be some kind of prank, because Tyson feels very strongly that he’s not the only one in his house right now. He can’t explain it—he hasn’t heard footsteps or badly muffled giggling or any of the usual signs that his teammates are misusing one of the five extra keys he had made when he started losing them all the time. Or, he remembers, when they started getting hidden all the time. By the ghost.

He sticks close to the wall on the way into the kitchen, where the cookie smell is even stronger. “Hello?” he says, and the kitchen lights flicker on. The whole room smells like chocolate, but the oven is turned off, and he doesn’t see any cookies anywhere.

“Is this your idea of a prank? Making cookies in my house and not letting me have any? That’s not a good trick!” It’s honestly more welcoming than anything else, almost like he’s not living alone. Creepy, but still kind of nice. Suddenly, like they’re responding to what he’s saying, the kitchen lights flash twice and every other light on the first floor blazes on.

“Nate, is that you? Gabe?” Tyson calls. “This is dumb, guys.” But he looks over at the light switch, and neither Nate nor Gabe is standing there. In fact, no one is standing there. He kind of wishes now that he had actually watched Stranger Things like Nate said he should.

“Is anyone here?”

As Tyson watches, an empty Gatorade bottle that he left out on the counter tips over and, almost cheerfully, rolls right off the counter.

“What the fuck.”

+

Tyson has a sneaking suspicion that Nate actually did block his number. He doesn’t respond to _EMERGENCY_ , which Tyson may have admittedly overused a little bit. Nate also doesn’t bite on _REAL EMERGENCY NATHAN COME ON_ or _fuck u can i stay at ur house tonight_ , so Tyson sleeps in his car and prays the neighbors don’t call the police on him.

Tyson can’t get a hold of Nate at all until after their game the next night, when the whole team is out at one of their usual spots for some early-season bonding. Tyson waits until Nate is done buying shots for the rookies, despite the fact that JT and Kerfy can buy their own and Josty doesn’t deserve any, then pounces, grabbing him by the arm and dragging him to one of the tables the team has taken over.

“Nate, I’m not even fucking with the hypotheticals anymore. I think there’s a ghost in my house and I think it’s trying to speak to me.” Somebody groans and gets up from the table. Tyson doesn’t look to see who it is, because he loves his teammates and he wants to keep it that way.

“You know, I’ve been waiting for the day you finally snapped, but honestly I kinda thought it would be more dramatic,” says Nate.

“More dramatic how?” asks Tyson, feeling a little bit offended. If he’s gonna have a breakdown it should at least be a good breakdown.

“I was imagining, like, a hostage situation.”

Gabe leans across the table to cut in. “Wait, is Tyson the hostage or is he taking hostages here?”

“Probably he would—hold up, fuck you. He said we were done with the hypotheticals! We were talking about talking to ghosts, dickhead,” Nate says, louder.

“No imagination at all,” says Gabe, as Josty leans around Nate, grinning wide enough to show all of his weird small teeth.

“You guys are trying to talk to ghosts?” Josty asks. “You need any tips?”

Nate just blinks once, slowly. Tyson considers, gnawing on the straw that came in his strawberry margarita. “Do you...have tips?”

Josty nods, raising an eyebrow and a half because he can’t quite raise just the one. “I’ve spoken with the dead before,” he says, deeper and slower than he usually talks. He sounds like an idiot. Tyson fucking loves this year’s rookies.

“What? Shut up. We’re the veterans, you can’t haze us, that’s backwards,” Tyson says, suspicious.

“No, I’m totally serious,” Josty says, propping his chin up on both hands like a kindergartener. “This one time at UND last year? One of my buddies wanted to talk to his dead grandpa, and I, like, made it happen.”

“Because you’re a ghost whisperer,” Gabe prompts.

“Yeah, I’m a fucking ghost whisperer, keep up. Also, I think we talked to the spirit of Stalin, so, like, you know I’m legit.” Nate starts doing the thing where he puts his face in his hands and screams with his mouth closed.

“Okay, so let’s go whisper to the ghost in Tyson’s house,” says Gabe.

Josty shrugs. “I’d be down.”

“I like how Landy just invited himself,” says Nate.

“I’m in. Oh my god, I am so in,” Tyson says. “Nate, you wanna come?”

“I would rather die than sit in your house and listen to you and Gabe ghost-flirt.”

“Cool, that’s exactly what I thought you would say.”

Gabe, squinting at his phone, says, “According to wikihow the realm of the spirits is most accessible between one and four AM.” He pops his head up and grins. “Perfect timing!”

“Shit, yes!” says Josty. “I gotta get some stuff from my place, but I can meet you at Tys’s house in twenty.” He jumps up from the table, then freezes two steps away. “Does your house have candles?”

“Yes, my house has candles,” says Tyson.

“How many candles?” Josty asks.

“How many do we need?”

“He’s got so many fucking candles, Josty,” Nate says from where he’s mashing his face into the table.

“You’re gonna get an infection doing that. These surfaces are so fucking dirty,” Gabe tells Nate mildly. “Uber to the haunted house is gonna be here in three minutes.”

Tyson claps once, loud enough that Nate jumps. “Let’s go talk to some fucking ghosts!”

+

Twenty minutes later, the entire ghost hunting squad, consisting of Tyson, his captain, his rookie, and his rookie’s ouija board, is assembled on Tyson’s front lawn. His house, which always seemed sort of cute and friendly before, is starting to look a little creepy. The windows are dark, and the bushes in front of the porch are kind of scraggly in a way that makes him regret misplacing his call landscaping person?? note.

Huddled together, they all trudge up to the house. Gabe and Josty hover close behind Tyson as he unlocks the front door. Gabe has no concept of personal space and always stands about six inches closer than he really needs to. Tyson’s personal theory is that it makes it easier for him to dazzle people with his general face and body. Josty, however, might actually be scared. Tyson pats him on the arm, and he jumps a foot.

The front door swings open with an unhelpful creak. The three of them look at each other. Tyson shrugs and throws out a welcoming arm. “Make yourselves at home, I guess.” Gabe and Josty troop inside ahead of him and immediately start looking through his stuff like the nosy losers they are.

“Wikihow says ghosts like sacrifices of alcohol,” Gabe yells from the kitchen. “Josty, do you know if ghosts are into box sangria?”

From the hall closet, Josty says, “Wow, Mac was not lying about the candles. It’s like a freakin’ Yankee Candle store in here.”

“I just like it when things smell nice,” says Tyson. “This is why I didn’t have a fucking housewarming.”

Josty emerges from the hall carrying an armful of scented candles and proceeds to set them down on every flat surface in the living room. “Time to build the atmosphere,” he says, tossing Tyson a box of matches.

When they’re finally done lighting all the candles, Tyson’s entire house smells like an unholy combination of sandalwood, used matches, and whatever scent ‘Moonbeams On Pumpkins’ is supposed to be. With a flourish, Josty lays the ouija board out flat on Tyson’s living room rug. He moves two of the candles from the coffee table to the arm of the couch, as though that makes any difference besides slightly upping the number of fire hazards in the room, flicks off the overhead light, and nods.

“Okay, I think we’re all set,” Josty says. “I lost the little triangle thing that comes with the ouija board, but I found a pretty solid substitute when I was looking for candles.” He holds up a novelty shot glass with a weed leaf on one side and Mile HIGH City in rainbow letters on the other. Tyson forgot he owned that. Tyson really wishes he didn’t own that. He hears Gabe snicker behind him.

Josty sits down cross-legged in front of the board and beckons them over. Tyson and Gabe arrange themselves on the floor on the other side. There isn’t enough room around the board for three professional hockey players to sit comfortably, so Tyson settles for sitting uncomfortably, squashed next to Gabe with his shoulder kind of in Gabe’s armpit so they can both reach the shot glass.

“Alright, let’s get started,” says Josty. He cracks his neck and drops into his mystical ghost voice from the bar. “If there are any spirits in this house tonight, we would like to communicate. Please. If you aren’t, like, busy.”

They sit in expectant silence for a minute. The shot glass does not move. Josty’s hand is clammy as hell where it overlaps Tyson’s on the glass. Gabe’s hand, in contrast, is very warm. So is Gabe’s bigass thigh, pressed up against his. Nothing continues to happen. Tyson is getting twitchy.

“Hmm. Tys, maybe you should introduce yourself. It’s your house,” says Josty.

“Uh, hi, ghost. I’m Tyson. I live here, you might know me from—that?”

Very, very slowly, the shot glass drifts over to H.

“Oh shit,” whispers Josty, momentarily forgetting that he’s a seasoned ghost expert.

“Tyson, stop pushing it,” says Gabe. He elbows Tyson in the side, but they’re kneeling so close together that it’s mostly a nudge.

“I’m not fucking pushing it,” Tyson hisses. “You stop pushing it!”

The shot glass moves again, creeping across the board to stop on E. Then L. Then B, X, J, no, and H again.

“Maybe the ghost can’t read,” Gabe says.

The glass goes flying off the side of the board. In order to keep a hand on it, Tyson has to dive sideways a little bit into Gabe’s lap. At the same moment, all the doors that Gabe and Josty left open while they were rifling through Tyson’s personal belongings slam shut.

Valiantly, Josty says, “Okay, that didn’t happen last time, but I think we can work this out.” The lights flash twice. With a sudden puff of smoke, all of the candles that Josty put on the couch blow out.

“Oh my god, what the fuck,” says Gabe, grabbing Tyson’s shoulder in a death grip and staring at the unlit candles like he’s seen a ghost. Which, actually.

“Did you see that,” Tyson says. His voice cracks. He clutches Gabe’s knee.

“I have to go—pee,” says Josty, getting up and scampering out of the room. Tyson hears the front door slam shut and then, faintly, “Comphy? Can you come pick me up?”

Tyson sits stock still, most of his weight still on Gabe’s leg. He can feel Gabe’s heartbeat against the back of his shoulder going about 130 beats per minute. Tyson feels very much the same.

Very quietly, the speaker in the corner starts playing Careless Whisper.

“What on earth,” Gabe whispers right next to Tyson’s ear. He shivers, for a different reason than he expected he would be.

“I kinda like George Michael,” Tyson whispers back. “How does the ghost know that?”

“Tys,” Gabe says, “do you think the ghost might think you’re lonely?”

Tyson thinks about the cookie smell. He thinks about the ghost rearranging his grooming routine. He looks around at the room, which is lit only by twenty-odd candles and full of the soft sounds of really tacky sex music. He looks down at himself, on Gabe.

“Jesus Christ,” he says, maybe to Gabe, maybe to the ghost.

Gabe loosens his grip on Tyson’s shoulder. “Could you get off my leg, maybe? It’s falling asleep, and I think you’re straining my ligaments a little bit.”

Tyson shifts back on to the floor. He’s going to have to sell this house now, which is a shame, because aside from the matchmaking ghost he really does like the place. Probably he will also have to move back to Canada so he never has to see Gabe or Josty ever again. Gabe’s hand, however, is still on his shoulder. “Hey,” Gabe says, looking Tyson in the eye. “I think I know how to make the ghost leave you alone.”

The hand on his shoulder is starting to feel more like a caress. Gabe leans in. The music gets a tiny bit louder just as he meets Gabe halfway. It’s a pretty good first kiss, given that Tyson has a headache from all the candle smells and there’s definitely a ghost watching.

They break apart, and all the candles go out but one. Tyson reaches out and gently folds up the ouija board.

“Alright, you’ve made your point,” Tyson says to the room. “Thank you for your input, have a good night, goodbye.” The lights flash one more time, the last candle goes out, and the smoke detectors go off.

“Oh good,” says Tyson. Gabe plants a kiss on the corner of his jaw and goes to open a window. “I was wondering if those worked. That old wiring is a killer.”

**Author's Note:**

> brought to you by [this tweet](https://twitter.com/bromanconsul/status/981783677804822528)
> 
> tyson’s house and ghost are inspired by a real house and ghost in denver where my parents lived like 25 years ago. that ghost hated dogs and opened all the windows whenever the dog was alone in the house and then it made the whole house smell like cookies when the dog died. ghosts are fun!
> 
> come say hey on my super fun [hockey blog](https://softbarrie.tumblr.com)


End file.
